My gay boyfriend Michaeland my running coach Jessica somehow managed to move 15 minutes away from each other in Tulsa. They both lived in Memphis at one time but have never met. Between the three of us, we’ve moved 8 times since we lived in Midtown Memphis. When a Thanksgiving invitation came around, I jumped at the chance to visit them in Tulsa.

I was stoked when I realized a trip from Michigan to Tulsa would bring me through one of my favorite stops, The Hill, in St. Louis. This Italian neighborhood reminds me of the place I want to go when I die, the North End in Boston. I got there early enough to buy bread at Digregorio’s market. When I lived in Memphis, I often made a weekend trip out of a shopping trip to the The Hill for a few classic Italian meals and a shopping spree at this traditional Italian grocery. This time I loaded myself up with a high quality (purported to be the best) olive oil, fig preserves, truffles, cheese, salami and specialty sausage.

Another patron who’d lived on The Hill all her life sent me to the Missouri Baking Company for pastries. I was not disappointed. Michael’s husband Darren – a full-blooded Italian with a penchant for perfection – moaned when he opened the box to find a sfogliatella. I had never eaten one, but I can guarantee this won’t be my last. Delicate layers of flaky pastry dough encapsulated a fresh ricotta custard that was thick enough to have some substance but creamy enough to melt in your mouth. The three of us had a culinary party sampling the pastries and a St. Louis traditional cake called the Gooey Butter Cake. I still can’t decide what I liked best, and I’m so glad that I’ll be passing by The Hill on the way home. I won’t have to share on the return trip!

I arrived in Tulsa just after dark, and I was treated to the most beautiful sunset as I was driving across the Oklahoma prairie. With nothing but trees and grass, the sunset seemed to last for hours as clouds and color danced like a kaleidoscope.

After a short dinner and visit with Michael and Darren, Ashok and I retired to the Peacock Room in a beautiful century-old home downtown. Wendy, our hostess, is the mother of 12, and decided to turn her skills of taking care of others and tucking them in at night into a career. The room is beautifully colorful and warm, but not nearly as warm and colorful as the cozy dining room fireplace downstairs.

The sound of laughter and song from the family in this house is literally floating up the stairs as I write tonight. Last night I fell asleep exhausted from the drive, laughter with friends and a sugar-induced euphoria. I took a two-hour nap today, and I’m still eager to go to sleep. I have very little planned this week, and I love playing it by ear.

No matter where you go for Thanksgiving, I hope you are surrounded by people who love you, your favorite foods and a smudge of adventure.

I’ve had writer’s block for awhile now. I’ve been really working with it for over a year, and the magic seems to have evaporated. My head used to be full of stories, and my day would be scattered with seemingly magical moments where topics would arise out of nowhere. Gleefully, I’d grab it, run with it and gratefully hit ‘send’. Now, the connections don’t percolate, all the topics seem trivial, and I have no creative energy to write. Where has the magic gone?

2017 was a rough year filled with rejection. 2018 started with a layoff and a huge learning curve with the project management job. While I love learning new things, it takes all of my energy and focus to get through it. And, while I’m in it, my shortcomings and lack of knowledge impact my self-confidence. Now, I’m in yet another new job while I’m trying to build a life in a small town in Michigan. And in the background, my country is burning down, blowing up and sinking – all at once.

Given that list of adjustments, perhaps this is one of those times when creativity ebbs. It’s frustrating because writing really made me happy. It made me happy to get comments from readers and hear stories about their adventures. Everybody is so mad and worn down right now. I guess these are the fruits of fear.

Chaos, anger, fear, constant drama, greed and corruption are fruits of an unhealthy system. Our country is one big dysfunctional family right now. I find myself adapting to dysfunctional situations and relationships because I feel stuck with them. And in every dysfunctional system I’ve been stuck in, the fruit is rotten. No matter how much my mind wants to normalize it, it’s not a healthy system.

While I have had a rough year or so in transition, I’ve been breaking out of some toxic systems. Yesterday at work I was thinking about how different I feel in my current role. I feel safe. Yes, it’s busy and sometimes chaotic, but I feel safe to be myself. I am empowered to take risks and am supported even if I fail. With safety, I feel confident enough to encourage my team to take risks and be creative. I am routinely laughing and hugging my coworkers. The fruits of this workplace are sweet. At work, I feel highly creative. It’s an imperfect but healthy system.

Perhaps I don’t feel safe enough in my writing to be creative now. I need to be gentle with myself until I do. I will be patient and fertilize with a little love, faithfulness, gentleness, joy, peace and self-control. I think I like those apples.

Is there anything or anyone in your life bearing rotten fruit? Look around you. Where do you see the fruit of the Spirit? What systems are healthy? Unhealthy?

I’m re-reading Richard Rohr’s Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer. I bought the book a couple of years ago at the urging of my college friend, Russell. It was an excellent read, and I got in the mood to read it again – just in case I might have a different perspective now.

I had highlighted the sentence, “You don’t need to push the river because you are in it.” Sometimes, when I’m trying to make something happen, or I’m frustrated or scared at the way something is going, I do a canoeing meditation. In this visualization, I am canoeing down the river of my life. Sometimes the passage is rough, and I am afraid. Occasionally, my boat will capsize. At times, I get out and swim a bit before traveling on. But, the river continues moving forward without – or even in spite of – my assistance.

When I think of canoe trips I’ve made in the past, I keep a beginner’s mind. You have no idea where the river is going to take you or what rock or stump is beneath the water. It is one of the few activities that insist that I stay in the present and watch what is going on. And if perchance I do get stuck on a rock or capsize my boat, there is nothing to do but deal with it. As the title of Rohr’s book suggests, everything belongs. If it’s in the river, it’s there for a reason.

The minute I start thinking that something shouldn’t happen in my life … that someone shouldn’t act that way …. that something is wrong with the world, I am saying I know better than the river. I will never be able to push the river the way I want it to be. But I can accept the challenges it presents and try to enjoy the ride.

A man on the streetcorner amplifies his voice through a bullhorn. “Jesus loves you,” he screams to no one in particular. A taxi horn toot-toots. Shoppers swarm across the bridge wearing dark coats, bright hats and multi-colored gloves as if it’s a uniform. The wound on my back throbs. I should have bandaged it I think. A bus glides across lanes cutting off an SUV. A little girl in a gray hoodie grabs her Mom in the crosswalk. Chicago is an organism below my window seat.

Ashok lies quietly beside me. She ate her treat when we arrived and then ate dinner in the room. She was patient and waited on me in the car during yoga this morning and while I lunched with a friend. The traffic was maddening, and I opted to sit in the window seat and relax. She stood by the door begging to go out. She loves this high-rise in the city. Although frightened by the man on the bullhorn, she literally dragged me to the front door in eagerness.

We are here for a run in the city. I walked around McCormick Place today picking up my race packet and shopping at the expo. I passed up iced blue donut holes but ate a sample of a Kind bar. At the end of tomorrow’s 15K, we get hot chocolate and a pile of goodies. My friend Laurel joked that she’d rather just go to a local coffee shop and buy a hot chocolate than run 9 miles for it. With rain in the forecast, I will enjoy the warmth and sweetness when I’m done.

A double-decker tourist boat chugs up the river. The bullhorn drones on in the background. A green Peapod delivery truck stops to turn left across Wacker. A blue garbage truck floats by. A car horn blows sharply at a jaywalker. An antique clock twinkles red with a sign announcing the obvious – TIME. “Time for what”, I ask myself. Ashok sighs and relaxes into my shin.

Dusk hangs in the air as streetlights illuminate. A subway train screeches loudly nearby. The double-decker boat retraces its wake under the bridge. A cup of hot tea might be nice or a walk on the riverwalk. I’ll grab a nice dinner downstairs, walk my dog under the city lights, cozy up in that cozy bed and read a short story. Tomorrow morning I’ll be wet and cold and active early. No reason I can’t be warm and cozy inside tonight.

I’m not sure what month I purchased them. Sometime last fall, I committed to running again and walked over to Connected Soles, the running store two blocks from my house. The shoe specialist offered me some choices, and I ended up with a pair of purple Saucony Rides. They felt so comfy on my feet after wearing my other pair way too long.

Some of my runs this year…..

After a several year hiatus from running, I started training again in July 2017. The heat in Louisiana had sidelined my enjoyment of running, and the cooler summer temps of a Michigan summer had enticed me back on the pavement. Slowly I worked up to a 5K distance before doing my longest run of 7 miles just before it snowed. Yes, I should buy some new running shoes. I was a runner again.

My Rides were lightly used through the winter, but several times the treads held me steady on a snowy morning. Yaktrax boosted my confidence when I was worried about slipping on ice. Virtually new by the time the snow melted, my Rides waited patiently for clear roads and for me to get serious about training. One late winter day in March, I told my running coach I was ready to start. A half marathon finish line glistened in my dreams.

I signed up for the Mt. Baldhead Challenge, my favorite multi-terrain race. A brisk September morning seemed far away in February, but I was determined to clock that 15K. (They later lengthened it to a 12+ miler which threw a wrench into my training plan late in the summer.) Jessica, my coach, said she was running the Detroit International Half Marathon, so I signed up for that, too. I had months to build a base, lengthen my long runs and hone my mental game. I didn’t care about speed. I just wanted to finish strong and enjoy the journey.

A new girlfriend I met through running this year! We ran two half marathons together this summer.

It was a hotter than usual summer, and I sweated and cussed about the heat. My trusty shoes rose to the occasion way before sunrise on long run days and rested peacefully on rest days. They squished through a rainy 10K in Ann Arbor, slogged through sand on more than a few dune runs and cushioned my footfalls on miles of pavement. I wanted to quit a number of times, but my shoes never uttered a complaint.

The Morning of the Detroit Half Marathon

My 2018 season was like any other running season. I hated it some days. I hurt. I cried – literally. I laughed with friends. I played with my dog. I raced with strangers and made new friends. I cursed the heat and shivered in the cold. I challenged dunes and stairs. I pounded pavement and mucked through mud. I questioned my sanity, admired my stamina and envied those faster, swifter and skinnier than me.

My new shoes!

My new Saucony Rides sit beautifully laced in pink in my living room. I broke them in yesterday, and they felt soft and comfy in comparison to my former pair. What adventures await me in these shoes? My goal is to get stronger and work on strength over the winter and run when I feel like it. When the snow melts, I’ll get serious again. Next year, I plan to work on speed instead of distance. But whatever I do, my new Rides will obligingly take me there. May they see many sunsets and sunrises before they cross their last, glorious finish line. And may we both be exhausted with the joy of a great run.

So I broke up with my phone. You can read more about my initial journey by going to the category on my blog entitled How to Break Up With Your Phone. I use it mainly for listening to podcasts and tracking my runs with an occasional glance at the news. And, of course, I watch Stephen Colbert and John Oliver with my morning tea. I have a controllable relationship with Instagram, and I no longer feel addicted to my iPhone.

I worked through about half of the book “How to Break Up With Your Phone” and then I went on vacation. My little camping spot by the brook on the Blue Ridge Parkway featured no cell coverage, so I was forced to unplug for several days. I was able to check in on occasion but the forced hiatus broke the spell. I haven’t really gone back to using Facebook much at all, and I deactivated my account a week or so ago. I’m downloading my data right now. For more on how to break up with Facebook, read this article. It’s not easy. But leaving is always a process, isn’t it?

I’ve left Facebook before, but this time feels different. I actually left because I got bored with it. By the time I made the decision, I was checking it every two days or so and actually getting irritated when people contacted me there because I don’t check it often enough. In order to stop the contacts on Facebook that were getting missed, I decided I needed to close the door. I am on Instagram as @midlifemoments. It’s the kinder, gentler, non-addictive social media network.

So now I go about my day texting photos to friends and talking to them when they reach out to me or vice versa. I struggle sometimes to figure out how to kill time, but there’s always a way to mindlessly engage with the world. When I’m really bored, I take my dog for a walk or go to bed early and read. I’ve read several books which is something I had long since quit doing. I’m attending a writing conference this weekend, and I hope to meet some other people who spend their time creating instead of browsing.

The Universe has a sense of humor. As soon as I settled in to my healthy relationship with my phone, I got promoted. With the promotion came the requirement that I carry a work phone. I’ve gotten into the habit of stashing my personal phone during the day and only checking it when I go home for lunch or get a break. My work phone has no addictive apps on it, so I’m only focused on work – with the occasional search to see what’s happening in the media circus. No one away from work even has that number.

Today, October 20, is the National Day on Writing. And thousands of people are sharing the reasons they write with the hashtag #WhyIWrite. I’m not sure why I’ve never heard of this day before, but I thought I should be a part of it now that I know it exists.

In reflecting on #WhyIWrite, I visited my first Midlife Moments Blog. I wrote down my vision for this blog from the beginning, and in reading it today, I don’t think I’ve strayed from that mission. I wanted to create something different for my life, stand in my power and help others create something different if they desired it.

This picture is featured in that first blog in August 2012. That trip was sort of a lifting off point for me. It was the period at the end of my youth and the space preceding the next paragraph of my life. One afternoon we took off on a boat and dove into the Pacific Ocean to watch the Manta Rays dance after nightfall. In the middle of this surreal underwater dance, I realized that magic doesn’t happen to us. Magic creates itself WITH us. We are a part of …. not a witness to, this planet’s mysterious beauty. Swimming back to the boat a lone shark swam silently about 10 feet under us. My heart skipped a beat. It never wavered from its path. I will never forget the magnificence of that solitary animal, and I vowed I would cease to be afraid of adventure.

Why do I write? I write because writing makes my life meaningful. It forces me to talk to strangers. It makes me look beyond the obvious and make connections. A walk among the trees becomes a spiritual journey in prose. The chance meeting of a stranger fills in a missing chapter. An ending births the hope of a better tomorrow. And a story lifts the heart out of its burdens. Writing makes me less afraid of adventure. It provides purpose and meaning and soul to my day-to-day existence. Why wouldn’t I write?

I learned to motivate myself by being hard on myself. You are a loser, so you’d better shape up. You’re fat… better exercise and eat right. Nobody likes you, you’d better learn to be nice. Being mean to myself doesn’t motivate me. Yes, it might cause me to get started with some action, but the shame and regret that is produced by the constant criticism eventually sends me right back to depression, compulsive behavior or addiction. None of these conditions provide the foundation for success.

My morning meditation teacher encouraged me to focus on one positive thing about myself. I focused on my ability to be flexible and to adapt to my ever-changing external environment. It is a trait that I developed as a child, and I’m quite good at it.

My approach has changed over the years. As a youngster and a young adult, I was a chameleon and changed to fit the circumstance. That tended to cause me a lot of anxiety even though it was great for survival. But I lost myself. As I’ve gotten healthier, I’ve learned that a chameleon doesn’t change its insides. It only changes its spots. I can stay solid in my own being and be true to myself but change my response to external stimuli.

Small changes in perspective create the biggest change for me. Perhaps it’s just focusing on one thing that is positive to lift my mood. Or maybe I change the one thing I have control over. Sometimes I shift my focus from what is happening and its painful consequences to the learning I’m gaining from the event. When I’m tired and exhausted and anxious, I can’t make big changes. Those things happen when I’m in a place of strength. Getting to that sweet spot is often a process.

Have a great weekend, y’all!

What is one positive thing about yourself – or your world or your work – that you can focus on today? How do you shift your perspective so change is more manageable?

For some reason, the city of St. Joseph isn’t turning on the street lights about half the time in my neighborhood. It’s a little irritating when I have to run early because it’s really dark out. But I’m loving running amid the nighttime sky. The stars are amazing here in rural Michigan, and without the lights of our little city drowning them out, I get to enjoy the gentle light of the Milky Way. This morning lighthouse was particularly lovely against the night sky. Too dark for pictures. You’ll just have to come visit.

The best starry sky I ever saw was at Devil’s Den State Park in Arkansas. The campground was empty except for me, and I got up in the middle of the night to go to the restroom. I had to walk across a field of empty campsites, and the opening in the trees was like a portal to the universe. The expansiveness of the field of stars disoriented me. I was lost in an infinite world of light.

There are places in Michigan where you can see the Aurora Borealis. We even have a dark sky park in the upper lower peninsula. You can’t camp there because they try to keep light pollution to a minimum, but you can bring sleeping bags and hang out to view the stars and the northern lights. I can’t imagine how gorgeous it would be to see that magnificent natural phenomenon from the cliffs of Pictured Rocks. As with everything natural, you can’t plan it. You just have to be lucky enough to catch it. May I someday be that lucky. Meanwhile I’ll enjoy the glimpses I have right here at home.